


First Night After The Game

by eighth_chiharu



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Strider Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6586444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/pseuds/eighth_chiharu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave's first night on the new world after the game ends. Inspired by a picture by plajus on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Night After The Game

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [first day home after the game](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/190585) by plajus. 



The sun sinks slowly, the sky gradually darkening toward night. If that isn’t proof enough that this is a real world, a functional one, then Dave doesn’t know what is. They watch the sunset together, all of them with arms around each other’s waists, silently marvelling at something they never thought they’d get to enjoy again. The stars emerge, and after a brief discussion, they break off into smaller, more intimate groups. John goes with Jane and her father. Roxy grabs Calliope’s hand. Dave doesn’t pay attention to the rest. He’s had the day to recharge, to remember what happiness and hope feel like.

Now he has his own ending to face, and he wants to do it alone.

He leaves his friends, waving off their calls, and walks until something inside him tells him to stop. To his right is a can-house that looks like all the other can-buildings in this place, but this one is meant for him. He can feel it.

He goes up the cement walk slowly, tension creeping into him with each step. He puts his hand on the doorknob, wondering if he needs a key, but there’s no lock, probably because there’s no reason for anyone to steal anything. Not on the first day, anyway.

Before his friends can follow him -- if any of them are even watching -- he opens the grey door and steps inside, shutting the thing firmly behind him.

His old apartment greets him, everything in its place. It smells like Bro’s aftershave and dirty socks, is quiet except for the hum of familiar appliances and the electricity necessary to run the big television at the opposite end of the room. Even the dying sun winks in through the windows the same way it did three years ago.

He takes a step in, but tradition and a frisson of old self-preservation make him stop. He leans against the wall, removes his shoes, and bends down to set them in their regular place by the door.

His brother’s sneakers are already there, toes facing the wall, laces undone.

Dave stops moving for a second. He stares at the shoes, his heart constricting in his chest, emotions crushing it like a vice. He’d known they would be there. He’d seen it in that instant when they’d won. If the world was remade, this is what would be waiting for Dave. This apartment. Those shoes.

That man.

“Explains the dirty sock smell,” he mutters to himself, trying for a joke. It sounds flat and pathetic in the empty room.

He drops his shoes beside Bro’s. After a long minute, he takes one step farther in, then another. The hardwood floor creaks in the exact same places it used to, feels exactly the same beneath his socked feet as it did back then. He passes the arm of the futon, then the closet door. The same smuppets rest on the computer desk, the same controllers sit beside the XBOX. Everything is the same, everything is just as he pictured it. The only thing missing is --

“There you are. Wondered if you were comin’ back.”

Bro steps out of the hall, quietly, instantly, as if he’s been there the whole time waiting for his cue. Dave can’t move. He’s pictured, this, too: their reunion, Bro’s first words. But he doesn’t know what happens after. He could never get farther than this, no matter how brave he was in his imagination.

You deserve whatever happens here, his mind whispers. He doesn’t know if he believes that.

“Thought I oughta,” Dave says finally into the gaping hole of silence that’s opened up between them like a trap. “Since it’s our first night back and all.”

“Makes sense,” Bro agrees. “So...  What now? Pick up where we left off?”.

Dave knows what he should say. He’s not alone anymore, even if it feels like it. He doesn’t have to be here. But he can’t make the words come out. He can’t reject Bro. That isn’t how this works. “Guess so.”

“Cool. Ain’t much in here that I found, but there’s some lunch meat and bread and stuff in the fridge, and ice cream in the freezer. Neapolitan.” Bro shifts his weight. “That’s your favorite, I think.”

Dave’s throat closes a little. “...  yeah.”

“Pretty awesome that the fridge works, dontcha think?”

“Yeah.”

Bro exhales softly, takes his hat off and combs his hair back with his fingers. His gaze is on the floor, the wall, anywhere but Dave. “Tell ya what. How about we wait on dinner and play a round of Burnout or Tony Hawk. I’ll let you be Player 1. Since ya saved the world an’ all.”

“...Sure. Okay.”

“You can get changed first if you want.”

“Okay.”

They stand there for a second before Bro realizes he’s blocking the hallway. He steps to the side, and Dave’s heart beats a little faster. The way to Dave’s room is clear now, but he can’t bring himself to get any closer. To step into that narrow space between Bro and the wall. Instead, he drags up the courage he knows he has, forcing it to speak for him.

“... Bro?”

“Yeah?”

“When do we... When do we strife?”

Bro shrugs and replaces his hat on his head. “You think we need to anymore?”

Dave shakes his head, one tiny, nervous shake. “No.”

“I mean, y’already won. And I don’t think you’re gonna need to fight much around here anyhow..”

“Yeah. So it’s probably overkill. Probably a real waste of time. We probably don’t even have to do that anymore.”

Bro nods. “Yeah. Probably not. How about…” He pauses as if he’s trying to hear something, or think of something, but he can’t. He shrugs again. “How about we don’t. Sound good?”

It hurts. Dave’s throat, his heart, his stomach, all of them clench and twist at the same time. “You mean it?” he asks, voice half choked. He sounds like a wimp. He sounds like a big fat baby. He waits for Bro to laugh, to say he was just kidding, to tell Dave he’s crazy if he thinks Dave doesn’t need more practice, more strife in his life.

“Welp.”  Bro lifts both hands in a whatcha gonna do gesture. “If there ain’t no reason to do it, kinda dumb to keep it up, dontcha think?”

“Yeah.” It’s a whisper, caught on the sharp apprehension in Dave’s throat, the jagged hope that he thought he’d eradicated long ago. Except the game knew better. It made what he wanted. What he deserved. “But what if you change your mind?”

Bro pauses. “You ever see that movie Coraline? With those fuckin’ awesome clay puppets?”

“What the fuck, Bro.”

He continues, unperturbed. “It’s like that. Like those two moms.”

Dave frowns. “So, what, we’re in a new magical alternate dimension and you’re telling me you’re the Other Mother?”

“Nah.” Bro shakes his head. “I’m the real mom. The good one.” He hesitates again, then reaches out. Dave flinches, muscles tensing to dart away, to run to Dirk or Karkat or Jade, but Bro’s hand rests warm and heavy on Dave’s head. He musses Dave’s hair and smooths it back down. “Ya got rid of the key, little man. You and all your friends.”

“Bro,” Dave stammers, confusion and hope clamoring in his brain.

“Know what else?” Bro adds, cupping Dave’s cheek. “That goddamn doll was fugly as hell anyway.”

Dave sputters a surprised laugh, and something in him uncoils, relaxing faster than a dropped pot of cooked spaghetti.

“Okay, enough mushy stuff.” Bro pushes Dave’s head gently, playfully. “Go change and then let’s eat. I was lyin’ about playin’ games. I’m starvin’. Get a move on, Coraline.”

“Fuck you,” Dave smiles back, moving toward the hallway. It’s not scary now. It’s normal. No, it’s bettere than normal. It’s amazing. “Stop talking about getting my clothes off, or I’m gonna have to call CPS. If there’s even a CPS. Never mind, I’m calling the carapaces. I’m friends with the Mayor of this place, in case you didn’t know.”

“I’m not surprised in the least. And kid? About that game?”

“What, you dork?”

Bro shrugs again, and Dave swears his expression this time is something Dave’s never seen: pride. “Thanks for playing.”


End file.
